


Lord of the Flies Alternate Ending

by fracklete



Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 13:26:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15097604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fracklete/pseuds/fracklete
Summary: My English teacher assigned us a group project where we had to rewrite the ending of one of the works that we read in class, so I chose to do Lord of the Flies! I did the overwhelming majority of the work because I had already planned out an alternate ending before hand. I had a ton of fun writing this since it was extremely satisfying to end the novel the way I wanted it to end as well as to incorporate quotes and symbols from the actual book. I really wanted to focus on the true power of the innate evil within all human beings rather than on society’s role of keeping those dark impulses in check (which is what Golding focused on). So, please tell me your thoughts on this; if you have any questions about my choices within the alternate ending, feel free to ask away! I’m always open for discussion. Enjoy!





	Lord of the Flies Alternate Ending

**Author's Note:**

> My teacher thought this was rated R, so be aware if you’re sensitive to strong violence!  
> Trigger warning: blood, gore, murder

Suddenly Ralph blundered into the clearing, found himself once again in that sanctuary in the forest where rock prevented vegetation from growing. There, in the middle of the shadows, was the milky white skull of the pig, cynical smile plastered onto its decaying snout and sharpened spear still supporting the weight of death. The buzzing flies danced the same rhythm as the undulating, pungent waves that seemed to visibly radiate from the foul creature in the hot morning light. Ralph stood there with his chest heaving, defenseless against the pig’s hypnotizing stare and the imminent approach of the savages.

There it was again— the ululation from the hunters rang throughout the forest, much closer than before. Ralph felt the panic in his chest and impulsively started to gnaw at his fingertips. Eyes wide and wary, he stripped his hand away from his mouth and quickly wiped the dripping sweat off his forehead, blood from his fingers staining his skin. 

Don’t panic. Stay calm.

Ralph flung his head around in desperation, searching through the openings of the clearing. His labored breathing was no longer alone; faint rustling and malevolent jeering started to swarm around it.

Quick. Think of something. Quick. 

Another ululation, only ten feet away. The buzzing grew louder. They were coming.

Think. 

_ Think _ .

Rustling. Voices. Malicious voices. Voices from the people who wanted to kill him. What exactly would they do with that stick sharpened at both ends?

Ralph stared into the endless black holes on the pig’s head. The continuous droning of the flies intensified. The rustling increased, the vegetation vibrated, the noise of the buzzing savages became overwhelming. He was prey now.

But he didn’t want to be.

The curtain momentarily closed in his brain, and some type of madness appeared in his eyes. His hand unconsciously jutted forward but immediately halted as the stage once again became visible to him.

Do something, now. Hurry up. 

The ululation was right next to him and the curtain flickered again, longer this time. He seized the spear from the ground and shook it aggressively until the pig’s rotting remains came flopping down to the matted earth. The Lord of the Flies was dethroned, reduced to nothing more than a ball of flesh, blood, and bone laying lamely on the ground. Ralph tore his eyes away from the gruesome sight and settled them on the crusts of dried blood that decorated his spear— his spear that was sharpened at both ends. Ralph now carried death in his hands.

An amplified laugh reverberated to his right and the bushes were abruptly pushed aside. They had found him. He was shaking, but they were here. He had to do something. Now.

Jack burst through the thicket, spear in hand, hunting knife strapped to his waist. Roger followed. Their faces were nearly unrecognizable behind those savage masks. Ralph took a hesitant step backwards, almost frozen with fear. Seeing his brief retreat, Jack quickly raised his arm, his eyes glinting maniacally upon seeing his opponent’s moment of weakness.

With the blood rushing in his ears, Ralph quickly sidestepped Jack’s oncoming attack. Barely dodging the flying spear, he yelped as the weapon grazed his side. It landed in the bushes behind him, and in a frenzy, he bolted away from the increasing number of savages that were barging their way into the clearing. The last thing he saw was Samneric, one of them grabbing Jack’s spear from the ground and the other looking up at Ralph with apology. Or was it resentment? 

He didn’t look back.

Breathing heavily, his pounding heartbeat nearly masking the savages’ shouts from behind, Ralph ran as fast as his feet could take him. He had no destination in mind, and was powered solely through the pure instinct of wanting to survive. The creepers grasped and scratched at his limbs until they bled, desperately trying to bring him back into the hands of the savages.

_ Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood! _

Sweat and tears stung his eyes, almost blinding him, and he could just barely make out the old meeting platform in the distance. Ralph eventually exited the expanse of the forest, stumbling over the last of the creepers and approaching the open. The canopy of trees and vines disappeared, replaced by the aqua-blue sky and searing sun. With the platform fully in view now, he sprinted towards it, as if getting to it would fulfill his desperate attempt to revert back to the time before— before the chase, before the deaths, before the savagery, before the loss of innocence. 

The platform was just within reach. A sharp pain abruptly ran up his leg.

_ Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Bash him in!  _

Falling to the ground in a heap, Ralph glanced back, panic and adrenaline soon numbing the stinging wound. His leg hung limply behind him, skewered by one of the savages’ spears. The tribe was still far behind, but their chants were gradually getting louder as they gained distance. 

Ralph just wanted it all to end. While attempting but failing to scramble back up onto his feet, he let out a choked cry, almost breaking down completely.

Almost.

But some part of him refused to surrender and a somewhat familiar feeling invaded every inch of his body. Fueled by an animalistic impulse, Ralph clutched the end of the spear that was lodged in his leg, and with an intense, wrathful yell, wrenched it out. Gore dripped down the side of his limb, painting the skin a deep, brutal red. Blood and agony seemed to simultaneously exit his body, and he marveled at the beauty of the new color that concealed his flesh. Slowly but undoubtedly, the madness came into his eyes again. It pulled the corners of his lips into a grin, and he chuckled softly at the tickling feeling of the leaking red. 

The curtain had now descended completely. The act was up, the play was over. 

Hoisting himself up and using the spear as support, he limped towards the platform, the last remnants of pain numbing with every step. He scrambled onto its top and stood firmly in the center, eyes locked on Jack and the others, as if daring them to come forward.

Jack skittered violently to a stop, again followed by Roger. The same grin from before was still plastered on Ralph’s face, unphased by their sudden approach and looks of slight confusion. They were examining Ralph curiously, as though they were seeing him for the first time. Although their expressions only occurred for a split second, Ralph could sense something else as clearly as if it had been pasted on their faces for eternity. 

Fear.

It was something he no longer felt— something he no longer had.

The littluns halted in their tracks, seeing the hesitation in their leaders and the unfamiliar look on Ralph’s face. Ralph stared at Jack and Roger with a longing gaze, desiring to slice open their skin with his stick that was sharpened at both ends. A chief once again. Wasn’t that what he had always been? 

Suddenly, Jack unsheathed his knife and releasing a feral cry, pounced onto the platform towards Ralph. Roger trailed closely behind him with his sharpened spear in hand. With a grunt, Ralph aggressively swung his own weapon, throwing Jack off balance as it nearly scratched his face. He tumbled, and Roger took charge, scampering at Ralph with full force. Ralph swung again, this time slightly catching Roger on the shin. He flinched, but immediately recovered and thrust his stake at Ralph’s stomach. It broke skin and created a deep, bleeding cut. Ralph felt nothing. He quickly looked down at the open wound and back up into the eyes of his enemy, Ralph’s mouth drawn into a smirk. Roger’s eyes widened in surprise at this foreign expression, and Ralph took the opportunity to stab at him with even greater intensity than before. Roger screamed in agony, the spear stuck far into his thigh. Jack was just beginning to get back up onto his feet, so Ralph jerked his spear from Roger’s muscle. He fell to the ground foaming at the mouth and holding back another scream, blood bursting from his mangled leg.

With Roger momentarily disabled, Ralph shifted his attention to Jack, whose menacing glare only heightened the adrenaline of the moment. Ducking as he neared, Ralph pummeled into Jack from underneath, using his weight to throw him off balance. Both collapsed onto the ground in a flurry of limbs that were kicking, punching, and scratching, and the weapons knocked out of their hands, resting on the sidelines. Some of the spears from the littluns whizzed over their heads, completely missing their desired target. Pinning Jack beneath him, Ralph hit his nose, once, twice, three times, until Jack’s hands finally released him and busied themselves with stopping the steady flow of blood trickling from his nostrils. 

Seizing this moment of opportunity, Ralph instantly obtained Jack’s knife from the ground next to him. In one swift movement, he vigorously stabbed Jack in the eye, causing an eruption of blood and anguished screams from beneath. Giving it a little twist, Ralph ripped the knife from Jack’s eye socket. He let out another deafening shriek and blood sprayed onto Ralph’s face, painting it in a glistening red mask. Terrified uproar from the littluns could be heard. He removed himself from Jack’s writhing body, wiping the residue of carnage from the knife onto his ripped shorts. What a pathetic leader Jack was.

Muffled groans emanated from Roger as he painfully got back up onto his feet, clutching the seeping laceration with one hand and his spear with the other. Ralph stuffed the knife into his pocket and grabbed his own spear from the platform, his eyes meeting with Roger’s to encounter his furious glare. With shaky movements, Roger limped towards Ralph, occasionally glancing at Jack’s frenzied movements. Ralph ignored the apparent worry for his friend and kicked him full in the chest, causing him to slam onto the floor and grunt emphatically. Dazed and out of breath, he struggled greatly to get the air back into his lungs and scrambled away from Ralph with frantic motions. Roger was no longer the terror, but instead he had terror plastered on his dark face. He let out an obstructed sob. He was trying to say something, trying to beg for mercy. 

But Ralph didn’t care. 

He raised his spear above his head and with a definite downward movement, plunged it straight into Roger’s heart. A wretched shriek escaped his throat and echoed throughout the forest. Jack stopped squirming and the littluns stopped shouting. With a final twist, Ralph extracted the weapon, blood splattering all over his face and body. Roger grunted one last time, and blood dripped from the stake and dotted the platform’s surface like confetti. Ralph admired his creation. A distorted face with wide open eyes; a mutilated chest with a jagged, gory hole that soaked the area beneath in a pool of blood. It was death that he had created.

The littluns whimpered in horror and Ralph heard them begin to scurry behind the trees. Ralph glimpsed over at Jack, seeing him in a upright position, clutching his eye with one hand. A stunned expression was on his face as he fixed his limited gaze on what remained of his friend. His breathing visibly intensified, his chest heaving up and down, faster and faster as rage surged throughout his entire body. Jack shifted his stare to Ralph, teeth gnarled in an ugly snarl, and removed his trembling hand from his face. Blood had covered his palm completely and the liquid continued to drip down his rigid cheek. Upon seeing this change in Jack, Ralph promptly charged forward, his menacing smile expanding with every step towards his prey. He dropped his spear, thrust both hands outward, and knocked Jack back onto the ground, hands tightly gripping his freckled throat.

Jack frantically clutched at Ralph’s arms but they would not budge, and air was quickly running out. Jack’s mouth opened in an attempt to speak, but Ralph increased his grasp. His expression transformed into one of panic; his face began to turn purple and tears started to form in his remaining eye. 

Jack muttered. Pleaded.

Gurgling madness bubbled up from deep within Ralph and Jack’s eye rolled back into his head, looking up at the heavens as if praying for mercy. Soon, his hands lost their strength and fell from their feeble position on Ralph’s arms. With one last jerk of his hands, Ralph crushed Jack’s trachea, the purple face and glazed eye the only remnants of the human being that was once Jack Merridew.

As Ralph stared at the lifeless body, an inexplicably overwhelming hatred swelled within him. Grabbing the knife from his pocket and powered by vicious ferocity, he severed Jack’s head from his body. Lifting it and snatching his already bloody weapon which he then shoved into the sand by the platform, Ralph pushed the head straight onto the other sharpened end of the spear, enthroning the new Lord of the Flies.

Ralph stalked back to Jack’s headless body and dragged it toward the sea, blood trailing in its wake. With some effort, he heaved it over the ledge and within minutes, the calm waves lapped at the shore and retracted, carrying the body into a wide expanse of ocean. Leaving Roger’s carcass as a feast for the flies, Ralph made his way down to the bathing pool, the eyes of the few littluns who dared to stay watching his every move. He immersed his bloody hands into the water, the color red slowly seeping in all directions. As the pool cleansed the hideous remnants of inhumane display from his palms, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection, his painted face a stark crimson among the otherwise diluted crystal blue. 

Ralph was looking straight into the eyes of a savage.


End file.
